Peaks, Valleys, and Harm Reduction: My Life as an Urban Indigenous Yukoner
I grew up in the Yukon, a magical place, where the winters are blistering cold and seem to last eight months of the year.
With the first snowfall in September and the last one sometimes in May, there is a beauty in the silence of the winter, where everything gets still and crystal clear. If you are lucky, the Aurora Borealis will dance across the evening sky for you. In the short summer months, you will be welcomed by long days and a sun that doesn’t sleep. In the Land of the Midnight Sun, there is an abundance of mountains to climb, trails to wander, and lakes to fish in. This place is in my blood, and it is the place I will forever call home.
For those of you who might not be familiar with the Yukon, it is Canada’s smallest, most western territory. It is known for its long summer days with 24-hour daylight in June and July, and long, cold, dark winter months which peak from December to February and can drop down to -50 degrees Celsius temperatures.
The Yukon has 14 First Nations and 8 language groups, making up about 25% of the population, compared to the 5.9% of Indigenous people in BC. According to Travel Yukon, “The Yukon has been inhabited for centuries, holding some of the earliest evidence of the presence of humans in North America.”
I am one of the 1,400 members of Liard First Nation, one of the four Kaska Nations. Liard First Nation inhabits a broad area in the southeastern Yukon and Northern BC. Kaska people consider the land and everything on it sacred and consider themselves stewards of the land. The land has provided and guided the Kaska people from time immemorial.
History of the Yukon
The Yukon is popularly (and colonially) known for the Klondike Gold Rush in the late 1800s, where thousands of people set out in search of adventure and striking it rich. In the hundreds of writings stored in the archives, you will find tales of the harsh and unforgiving weather, alongside the rowdy energy of the prospectors after spending weeks and months isolated in the vast wilderness mining the rivers for gold.
I would argue that much of this spirit still lives on in the Yukon. The mining industry is still alive and thriving, making up about 14% of the Yukon economy, offering well-paying jobs without the requirement of post-secondary education. These jobs require hard physical labor, a driver’s license, and working 12-hour days for weeks at a time—leaving workers home with friends and family only a quarter of the time. Working hard and playing hard is part of the culture. It is a tough balance, and the alternatives for that kind of pay are few.
Connections
I mentioned earlier that I am a member of Liard First Nation, which I am, but I’m also mixed race. My mom, a white woman who grew up in the Lower Mainland, followed her sister to the North in the early 80s looking for work and in search of something new—a city girl settling in the North. My dad, a quiet and strong Indigenous man from a small community about five hours south down the Alaska Highway from the town where I grew up, still lives there and leads a very quiet, traditional life (it took me a long time to understand and appreciate this).
I didn’t grow up with my Nation or on my reserve. While my dad often found work in his hometown and would travel back and forth to see us, I was raised full-time with my mom. I grew up in Whitehorse, the capital city, which makes up approximately 70% of the entire Yukon population. For most of my upbringing, it sat at a population of almost 20,000 people (for context, in 2023, the municipality of North Vancouver has a population of 92,000). I would be what you call urban Indigenous, meaning I grew up away from my Indigenous culture and traditions.
What’s It Like in the Yukon?
The first thing that you will likely notice when arriving in the Yukon is the vastness of untouched land. The eight municipalities cover only 0.2% of the territory’s land mass. Driving to Whitehorse from any other major city is about a ten-hour drive in any direction. This seclusion meant that time works differently there—the pace being much slower. Outside influences felt light years away, and we always seemed to be at least a few years behind on many trends. The Yukon sort of feels like it has its own little bubble around it, with the opportunity to really just stay protected if you want.
The communities in the Yukon are small, with between 300 and 1,000 people per community. They are too small for children to go all the way from kindergarten to grade 12, so the youth travel from the communities to move to Whitehorse for high school, often leaving their families behind and coming home for long weekends, Christmas, and summer breaks.
In Whitehorse, we have three major high schools. We have Yukon University (when I went there, it was still a college). We have six grocery stores, a Canadian Tire, and a Walmart. Our Main Street might be as long as one block on Granville Street. We have two gyms and a big, beautiful community center built in 2005. We also have a stunning performance theater and a bowling alley, but no movie theaters.
There is a lovely community feel when you walk around town—a lot of friendly faces, people holding doors open for each other, and strangers waving at each other when they drive by (especially in the smaller communities). Even if you don’t know everyone personally, there is a good chance you will recognize them just from seeing them around town.
So, what is there to do in the Yukon, you might ask? That’s a great question.
Outdoor activities are probably the number one way to pass the time since we have such an abundance of land. Hunting, fishing, camping, hiking, boating, softball, snowboarding, skiing, and skidooing are common ways people spend their free time. The pace of a smaller place is much slower, so gardening, cooking, and crafting are popular as well. City stores and cafés close early, and it only takes 15 minutes to drive anywhere in Whitehorse, so there’s potential for a lot of downtime.
The Shadow Side of the Culture
It’s hard to describe to people who don’t come from the Yukon that drinking is a major part of the culture, and having multiple drinks on any occasion is part of the social norm. It can be difficult to find activities that don’t involve the consumption of alcohol. An article in the Yukon News stated that the average Yukoner consumes between 3.8 and 10.4 drinks per occasion, and that the Yukon has been known for having the highest alcohol sales per capita.
But why are drinking and party culture so active? Is it the long, dark winters? The lack of organized activities? Is it intergenerational trauma? Or maybe it’s a direct reflection of colonialism? Possibly the isolation? I can’t say for sure, but my guess is the compounding effect of all of them combined.
I didn't grow up in a drinking house; my parents decided to stay sober once they had children. I learned about substance use from my friends—from house parties to joyrides and late-night bush parties with mile-high bonfires. There was an abundance of opportunities for shenanigans and trouble. My generation in particular seemed to know how to throw down (maybe all generations say this). From mid-teens to adulthood, we all seemed to know where to gather to celebrate, mourn, dance, laugh, fight, and be together.
Throughout all these years, it’s been heartbreaking, inspiring, and hopeful witnessing my peers go through the peaks and valleys of life. Many of my friends stayed in the Yukon and started families of their own. Others continued down the same path of partying that we all started on—some finding themselves choosing the way of sobriety later in life, some who didn’t get to choose and we’ve lost along the way, and others who chose to end the pain inside.
My own path is full of the same peaks and valleys, but my route was a bit different. I often say I grew up working in mental health. I started working in a treatment program at the age of 19, working with adults struggling with substance use. While other people my age were working at restaurants and bars, I was attending AA meetings with my clients, learning about the Big Book and the stages of change.
A young adult learning to be a space holder in an abstinence-based culture while simultaneously holding my own substance use close led to a lot of internalized stigma and shame—stigma and shame that I am still untangling myself from. I still identify as a substance user, while "addict" never seemed quite right. I’ve experienced firsthand the benefits and the risks, and I've made plenty of mistakes. My relationship with substances has continued to grow, shift, and change with me as I grow older. I seem to have landed somewhere in the in-between, a place that I am getting more comfortable with: a place of harm reduction acceptance.
In Conclusion
If you ask me about my relationship with the Yukon, I’ll tell you that it is complicated. I love my Yukon, my home—it holds so many of the moments that make me who I am. But the peaks and valleys associated with life there are equal to the beauty of the peaks and valleys of the landscape. The culture can be as harsh and unforgiving as the winters, but the community can be as warm and bright as the midnight sun. It is the people I love, my family and friends, that keep me coming home.
I tell you parts of my story in case you recognize parts of your own; to let you know where my ideas come from; and to offer a glimmer of hope in case you are in those valleys, or maybe you’ve been hiking up for a long time and the journey just never seems to end. Keep going, my friend—the view from the peak is well worth the climb.
With love,
Chantelle
